"Bravo..., that's Nemesis...," Daemon muttered softly, the name escaping his lips like a ghost long feared.
He couldn't believe his teammates were actually pointing fingers at him. At Nemesis. The one they all owed their lives to—whether they wanted to admit it or not.
But they didn't understand. They didn't see what Daemon had seen.
A shiver ran down Daemon's spine as the memory came unbidden—bloodied pavement, the suffocating heat of an inferno, and the last screams of his fellow officers. He had been a police officer once. Brave. Trained. But that day—that mission—they were ordered to guard the commissioner from a group of rogue anomalies. One of them turned out to be Nemesis. Only, Nemesis wasn't rogue. He was judgment.
Daemon remembered the way his comrades had died, screaming, pleading—some reduced to ash, some dismembered without even seeing the attack. Nemesis hadn't even looked angry. That was what haunted Daemon the most.
